


(Lying) Like You're Tame

by aivilo_18



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aivilo_18/pseuds/aivilo_18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam stops the groan he can feel trying to escape because, Jesus fucking <em>Christ</em>, this is almost too gorgeous.  He simultaneously wonders and thanks his lucky stars over how Katy actually managed to <em>miss</em> this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Lying) Like You're Tame

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from "Tame" by The Pixies. Thanks (and blame?) goes to seperis for the beta and the epic, pie-worthy handholding and encouragement on this. I now email her more than my own mother, so I guess I trust her when she tells me this isn't awful.

It’s not that Adam is necessarily shocked by the suggestion once Kris is finally able to actually get the words out in something resembling a grammatically correct sentence in a language that is, Adam guesses, at least 90% English.  It’s that he’s _confused _ for all of three seconds as he attempts to account for the 10% language barrier.  He’s in the middle of hoping for Spanish but willing to settle for what might be passable Klingon when the actual nature of the request makes its way to his brain.     
  
Then confusion begets very interested surprise begets Adam being happy _forever_ .   
  
Because Adam had a basic preconception about Kris Allen as a person, a preconception that involved him  obviously  being born in the back of a rusted, dusty pick-up truck (he wasn’t) and maybe weirdly homeschooled (again, no).  He keeps these notions to himself because he’s a respectful boyfriend when he needs to be.  But, when he met Kris and heard “Arkansas”, he jumped to his own prejudiced conclusions because Adam doesn’t make the stereotypes, but he’ll proudly admit that he’s  really good at seeing them.  Also, when you factor in Kris’ language-based skills being a weird hybrid of English and Whatever the Fuck That Word Was, well, Adam doesn’t think he’d be judged too harshly in a court of law over this misunderstanding.     
  
A misunderstanding that has Adam feeling like he’s hit the fucking kink jackpot.  He’s already formulating plans and scenarios in his head when he realizes that Kris is now looking at him with less blushing humiliation and more worried confusion mixed with concern for personal safety because maybe Adam’s grin needs to be dialed down a few notches from “fucked out crazy” to “slightly manic”.     
  
Also, he probably could have refrained from actually saying “Cha-ching!” out loud.   
  
*   
  
A week goes by, and Kris is starting to wish he’d kept his big mouth shut and just settled for being happy with nice, normal, non-kinky but still amazingly enthusiastic gymnastic sex on every available surface of their house.     
  
He’s also making a list of the pros and cons of a life sentence as he’s pretty sure he’ll be murdering Adam any day now.  It seems that Adam having any kind of knowledge of Kris’ more intimate fantasies is enough to turn him into the horny, adult equivalent of an annoyingly impatient, over-eager child on a seemingly never-ending trip to Disney World and Kris can really only take so much “Are we there, yet? Are we there yet? Are we there _yet_ ?” before opting for murder or just locking himself in their bathroom  _forever_ .   
  
Adam finally seems to get the point that maybe Kris is having issues dealing with the implementation of some kind of weirdly strict kink schedule in their bedroom and backs off, but not without resorting to pouting like someone decided to poison his favourite puppy.  Although the rather enthusiastic blow job he gets for “good behaviour” in the back of a random limo on the way to something somewhere really helps in that regard.  Kris realizes that rewarding this kind of petulance will most definitely come back to bite him in the ass, but it’s enough to get Adam to stop all the goddamn sulking, so he figures the end justifies the means for now.   
  
And, in the end, it turns out that a little breathing room and patience is all Kris needs to at least  _start_ this thing, which is how he ends up owing Adam a new mug to replace the favourite one Adam drops when Kris ends up ambushing him in their kitchen at the ungodly hour of 9:00am on a completely non-descript Thursday morning.     
  
*   
“Jesus, Kris, a little warning next time?”   
  
Adam tries to sound like he minds when Kris manages to sneak up on him while he’s prepping for his morning caffeine overdose because usually he does mind and Kris knows this, knows that Adam is kind of freaked out by Kris’ natural ability to be an unnaturally quiet little bastard with an invested interest in popping up in unexpected places and scaring the shit out of him.  Or giving him random hand-jobs, which is decidedly less scary (read:  _awesome_ ), but Kris will never _learn_ if he thinks there’s a way for him to get around this.   
  
That said, standing amongst the fragments of ceramic, Adam feels as though his transparency as a human being with working eyes is showing because, yeah, he’s wearing the black silk pajama bottoms that Kris bought him, and yeah, they hide  _nothing_ so, yeah, that instant hard on he’s now sporting is probably visible from _space_ .     
  
Adam lets out an audible breath as he takes in the display in front of him.   
  
The plaid kilt is an inoffensive palette of grey and black, pleats perfectly pressed, ending just above the middle of muscled thighs.  Kris is naked from the waist up, leaning against the wall and trying to look sure of himself, but Adam knows he’s nervous, sees it in the way he’s fidgeting, fingers playing with the hemline and,  _god_ , does that work for him, so unconsciously innocent and flirty all at once without even the slightest idea of how he’s doing it.   
  
With anyone else, Adam would just assume the person was a really good actor, but he knows Kris and Kris has absolutely no poker face when it comes to sex.  There’s a blush that’s already spread across his cheeks and his eyes are trying so hard to stay trained on Adam but they end up flitting about, looking down and away every few seconds, his breathing not quite normal.  One corner of his mouth is tipped up and he’s trying so hard for a confident smirk, but he lands on such blatantly anxious hope that this is working for Adam, that Adam is actually wanting this for reasons that are at least somewhat unrelated to  _Kris_ wanting this.  It’s all just so fucking genuine and sweet and sexy, beautifully lacking in any knowledge of just how painfully, nail-poundingly hard this whole thing is making Adam and God-fucking- _yes_ , he can  _totally_ work with this.   
  
It’s only a few short steps before Adam is in front of Kris, running a slow, deliberate finger down Kris’ torso, hooking just the tip under the waist of the kilt, knuckles brushing the trail of hair that disappears under the fabric.  He pulls just enough that only Kris’ hips come forward from the wall, but not enough to pull him completely against him.  Adam can feel the tension in Kris’ abdomen, the way his breath hitches slightly when Adam pulls at the waist of the kilt a second time, and Adam is calling on any and all restraint he has to not simply bend Kris over the nearest available surface and take, take,  _take_ .         
  
"How long, Kris?" Adam asks, softly, because this request did  _not_ come out of thin air no matter how earnest and innocent Kris had pretended to be in the asking.  "Try the truth this time."   
  
If it’s possible, Kris’ eyes get wider and his breathing picks up just enough for Adam to notice a change.  A small imperceptible flinch trips across the muscles in Kris’ neck and Adam recognizes the hesitation, the restraint.  He draws the tip of a finger up Kris' thigh, skimming the hem of the kilt, inwardly grinning like a maniac at Kris' answering shudder when he feels the slight shift of the garment against his skin.   
  
“Come on,” Adam says, his hand fluttering across the front of the skirt, where Kris is already hard.     
  
He tries not to think about how Kris was already hard from  _before_ , how it probably started while he was pulling on the kilt in secret, in their bedroom, doing up the suspiciously distressed leather buckle at the side, his cock already so interested as he prepared himself for whatever the hell this is, and Adam makes a mental note to ask Kris to let him watch next time.  God, he wants to  _see_ .   
  
“Tell me, baby,” Adam asks again, brushing Kris through the fabric a second time, delighting in the way Kris tries, and fails, to control the needy thrust of hips.   
  
"Katy," he breathes, "She had...stuff.  Things she'd wear. I wanted…"   Kris trails off, head dipping, eyes closing on the partial admission, like there’s absolutely  _anything_ here that he needs to feel guilty about.   
  
Adam stops the groan he can feel trying to escape because, Jesus fucking  _Christ_ , it's almost too gorgeous.  He simultaneously wonders and thanks his lucky stars over how Katy actually managed to  _miss_ this.  Catching Kris in the middle of a full-body shudder, Adam hooks hands under knees and hoists him up, slamming him against the wall.  Kris catches on quick enough to be helpful, pressing back against the wall, abs tight and legs instinctively coming around his waist, his hands gripping at Adam's shoulders.     
  
Adam keeps Kris pinned, so small and perfect, loving how he at least attempts to control the almost immediate, desperate twitching of his hips against Adam, trying so hard not to embarrass himself by rubbing off on Adam’s stomach like some horny teenager.    
  
"Poor Kris," Adam purrs against his neck, one hand pressing at the small of Kris' back while the other travels up under the kilt, fingers skimming the point where leg meets hip, only just flirting with the idea of wrapping around hard cock, "your clumsy hands up her skirt, all the while wishing it was you that got to have it this way."   
  
Adam feels the sigh more than he hears it, a soft, shivering breath across his skin that, if he wasn't already in the process of grinding a kilt-clad Kris through the wall, would have resulted in lethal amounts of cuddling and dangerous, forever kinds of promises that don't scare him nearly as much as he thinks they probably should.  Adam licks across Kris’ jaw, dipping into his mouth and, based on the way Kris starts enthusiastically sucking on his tongue, Adam is guessing hugs and tenderness aren’t exactly what he needs or wants right now anyway, thank  _god_ _._  Adam rolls his hips up to meet Kris' thrusts, hitching the kilt up higher on Kris’ thighs as he uses his body to keep him pressed against the wall.   
  
"This is how you wanted it, isn't it," he says into Kris' mouth, disengaging from the kiss, his fingers sliding up higher, under the waistband of Kris' kilt, pressing bruise-hard against hip bone.  "Someone's hands up your skirt, such a little whore for it."   
  
Kris is open mouthed against Adam's jaw now, just pressed there, panting hot and wet against him, and Adam knows the feeling of being so beyond words that maybe the only thing you can do is try and breath through it.     
  
"Is that what you are?  A pretty little backseat whore?" 

“Fuck,” Kris groans, finally speaking.  “I… _fuck_. ”   
  
Kris is already hot and slick against him, so Adam knows it’s not going to take much this first time, which is fine, is  _perfect_ as far as Adam is concerned.  His hands come down to grab Kris’ ass, hoisting him up a little more, the support making it easier for Kris to move.   
  
“Go, just take it,” he whispers, as Kris starts moving with a little more purpose, tension falling away, greed taking it’s place, “God, I’m gonna wreck you, baby, fucking  _ruin_ you.  You’re not even going to know how to fucking  _ask for it_ .” 

Kris must hear something in Adam’s intonation, the apparent need in Adam’s voice, how he just wants to know so much _more_.  

“I…just…god,” Kris says, his eyes screwed shut, “fuck…keep talking.”  The answer is stuttered and shaky but explicit enough that Adam grins against Kris’ jaw.  It’ll do for now.   
  
“Yeah?  You like that?” Adam asks, like it’s a question instead of fact based on how quickly Kris is moving now, hips rolling, cock hard against him, all frenzied and gorgeous.  “Are you my good girl?”    
  
“Yeah,” Kris answers, a breathy little whine that’s hardwired to go directly to Adam’s dick. “Fuck, yes.”   
  
“Yeah, you are.  Such a good little girl,” Adam says, like a dirty “I love you”, against Kris’ neck.   
  
Adam can tell Kris is close by the way his hands are just everywhere all at once now, flitting against Adam’s shoulders, chest, neck, not knowing where to land, like he has no idea what to do with himself, he’s that lost in it.  His legs clench even tighter around Adam’s waist, hips snapping tellingly.   
  
“Yeah, c’mon,” Adam mutters, palming Kris’ ass as he mutters obscene encouragement into Kris’ ear, “just like that, you’re such a dirty fuck, aren’t you.  My filthy little Conway slut.”   
  
Adam feels Kris freeze on an upswing, all tiny, frantic gasps in Adam’s ear and nails digging into Adam’s shoulders where his hands  finally  decide to land, and then he’s shooting all over himself and Adam.  Adam holds him there and they stay like that, pressed against the wall, Kris alternating between jerking through the aftershocks and rolling his hips lazily against Adam’s stomach, now wet with his own come.  Adam kisses him through each little tremor as he slowly comes back from wherever the fuck he just went.     
   
At some point, Adam looks down between them and almost starts giggling because they’re  _disgusting_ .  Kris’ kilt is rucked up around his hips, wrinkled and probably qualifying as hazardous material at this point.  Adam makes a mental note to just throw it out or frame it or something because there is no way he’s suffering through the unavoidable “what the  _fuck_ ” they’d get from whoever handles the dry cleaning.  He’s still so unbelievable hard that he’s wondering how his dick isn’t actually falling off, but it’s awesome and amazing and, as he looks at Kris, at the dazed little smile on his face, the one he gets when he’s still a little too out of it to check himself, Adam realizes it actually really doesn’t matter at the moment.   
  
They’ll play later.


End file.
